Taken for Granted
by Elisabeth Carmichael
Summary: Alicia's reaction to the death of the love of her life and the aftermath. A pensive piece written out of extreme grief after 5.15. Spoilers for 5.15.


**A.N.** I can scarcely put into words how upset I am over Will's death. I kept willing it to be a dream sequence or something, but it wasn't. Although I am loathe to accept his death-and in my mind he is alive and will eventually live happily ever after with Alicia-I felt compelled to write this in reaction to what has happened on the show.

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**Taken for Granted**

_A story by Elisabeth Carmichael_

She had taken him for granted. Taken for granted that he'd always be there. That she could always make things right between them. Taken for granted that when she was ready, he'd be there to hear her confession. To hear her confess that somewhere along the way, despite not wanting to, despite her denial, she had fallen in love with him. Taken for granted that someday he would know why she did what she did. Why she left the firm and stayed with Peter. Taken for granted that someday, she'd have the chance to be with him again, for real, for keeps.

Taken for granted that someday they would be happy.

And now that would never happen. Not any of it. He was dead. He died not knowing that she longed to be with him. He died never knowing what a true, enduring, passionately in love relationship felt like. He died thinking the love he felt for her was unrequited. He died without ever living. And that thought made her ill, violently ill.

Because in the back of her mind, she envisioned a future with him, not with Peter. She envisioned them happy, growing old together, sparring and then dissolving into fits of laughter. She had seen him teaching the grandkids how to catch a baseball and swing a bat, how to read the stats in the morning paper. Sometimes she had even seen him with a child of their own, playing the role of doting father, surprised by his own absolute joy and devotion to the tiny creature.

She wished she could go back to their last time together and tell him she loved him rather than hurrying out cursing their mistake. That night three months ago in New York when they wound up next to one another at the hotel bar after her failed meeting with Rayna Hecht and his tortured meeting with Mr. Dubeck. When they were both miserable and angry and sad and vulnerable. And drunk. When all those emotions came bubbling to the surface, drove them together, only to be driven apart by the clarity of the morning sun.

Maybe, maybe if she had told him the truth that morning, that she loved him, that she wanted to be with him, maybe he would still be alive. She wasn't sure how, but maybe that choice would have led to a different path, a different outcome.

It had been two months since he was murdered. Two months of agonizing pain that had her nearly paralyzed. Her mind could not adjust to this new reality. Half of the time she was convinced that it was a terrible nightmare. That she would wake up from it soon. That she would tell him the truth just as soon as she awoke. But it wasn't a nightmare.

She stood there, staring at his headstone. Staring at his name etched in granite. And she screamed. Yelled. Until the anger was overcome by her profound sadness. And then she wept. For him. For her. For them. For the life they would never share. Wept until she could hardly breathe, until she started seeing black spots and feeling dizzy. Because sometimes, she wanted to be in the ground with him. Sometimes her love for him and her despair made her forget that she had to keep living, for the sake of her children.

She fell to her knees. Then to all fours. Desperate to be closer to him. She told him she was sorry, that she loved him, that she had been wrong to stay with Peter. But he was gone. She struggled to catch her breath, heaving until she had drained all her energy, until she could produce no more tears. Until she felt numb. Slowly, she pushed herself up, wiped her slightly muddy palm on her jeans. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a black and white image, held it to her chest, kissed it, and then laid it down, propped up against the grave.

This wasn't how she had ever imagined telling him. A last tear streamed down her cheek. Landed on top of the headstone. Because he would never know his child.


End file.
